A Day To Remember
by oreo1717
Summary: Jean always has known that he shouldn't let Marco leave for work without sorting out their unfinished business. If only he'd remembered that... - 9/11 AU with a security guard!Marco and a fireman!Jean.
1. Chapter 1

**~A Day To Remember~**

**Chapter One**

The frenetic workings of the business buzz throughout the room, a constant, not-wholly-unpleasant din of fax machines, brays of telephones, rushed and tired morning conversations, shouting bosses, and the click-click-click of computer keys.

Marco smiles down at Franz, glancing down at his watch in order to hide his hidden anxiety from his friend. True, he doesn't have to wait on the man to gather all his things and walk next-door, but he'd said he would.

Besides, waiting a bit doesn't honestly perturb him all that much – most days, he'd be practically skipping to return home to Jean. However, last night, he'd endured a drunk, furious Jean with nothing but insults in the boy's mind, and, although Jean didn't mean them and has already texted apologizes profusely for those jibes he remembers, Marco still needs a bit of space to clear his mind. He feels guilty about it, but can't deny that a bit of time to think in the peace and quiet would be heavenly.

That time hadn't been available as he'd taken up the usually peaceful night-shift; his downheartedness fled his heart after a few words from his manager. Marco's promotion lifts his heart even now, and he can't wait to tell Jean. They'll be able to eat out tonight, maybe get some Italian, and he'll be able to get his adorable boyfriend the latest shooting game of his choice as an extra treat.

Again, dashing his eagerness to meet Jean early, Marco smiles again. The man mumbles and shuffles his hands over his desk, frisking through papers. Franz looks mildly ashamed at being so untidy as to miss the report – in order to calm his nerves, Marco smiles wider, allowing his gaze to rove elsewhere.

"I'm sorry!" Franz mumbles, blushing. "You can go, if you'd like. I know you're eager to get back."

Marco's smile fades as he contemplates that for only a second – his grin pulls back at his lips, broader than before. "I'll wait for you, don't worry. Jean can handle it. It wouldn't be the first time I'm late!"

"Yeah, well…" Franz shrugs. "I still feel guilty. It's not fair, really. Oh, wait! Here it is!"

Sighing with weary triumph, the man lifts a folder, a tired grin pulling back his face. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Marco. I know you're not very keen on the nightshift. I'd be lying if I said it was my favorite thing to do, so I know that can't be fun."

"Oh, it's fine," Marco lies, smiling. "It's part of being a security guard, I guess. Besides, thanks to the fifty-fourth floor's holy coffee machine, I'm good for a few more hours at least."

"Oi, Franz!" Hannah bounces up, her eyes bright and lively, her coppery red hair held back in a high ponytail. "Where are you and Marco off to? Can I help you with anything?"

Franz smiles wearily at her, tugging on his jacket as he does so. "Apparently, there's another glitch in the system. That report I was supposed to give to the bigwigs in the World Trade Center? It still hasn't gone through. So I'm just going to run it over before I head home. Are you working late?"

Hannah laughs, pecking Franz's jaw. "Hon, it's not even nine in the morning yet. I'm working no later than usual. I'll keep you in my thoughts, though. You go home, do the laundry, and then get some sleep."

"Hopefully, I will, if those idiots don't take too long processing the fact that I'm actually, you know, not some terrorist come in to defile records." Franz smiles at his own joke, his happiness bringing a broad grin to Marco's face.

Seeing the smile, Franz adds as starts the walk through the cubicles, "Really, Marco, you don't have to come with me."

Marco's smile broadens. "Really, Franz, it's no biggy. I'll help you live through a boring elevator floor to the hundred-somethingth floor. It wouldn't kill me, now would it?"

"I suppose not." Franz smiles crookedly. "Might just kill your boyfriend, though. He's been texting you, hasn't he?"

On cue, Marco's flip-phone buzzes. Blushing slightly, reaching an arm back to scratch at the back of his neck, Marco grins bashfully. "Yeah, he had… a bit of a late one last night. He's not a lightweight, but he can only take so much. It's not good for a fireman to get any charges on his record for being drunk in public, so…"

"Ah." Understanding gleams in Franz's eyes. "I take it Jean didn't take that too well. Next time, get Reiner to help you. He's got enough muscle to kick Jean's ass into shape."

Marco shrugs, growing uncomfortable. "He does, and that's kind of why I didn't call him. Mysterious bruises would also raise questions – and I want him to be able to get breaks more often. He already gets enough trouble because of… you know."

Franz gently cuffs Marco's shoulder. "Don't worry about it. The world's becoming friendlier towards same-sex stuff. Until the day it's okay, just stick with it." He jams the button on the elevator door, tapping his toe impatiently. "Damn. I hope the elevators at the Trade Center are a bit quicker."

His smile hinted with a slight bit of nervousness, Marco nods in consent. "Yeah, hopefully!"

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><p><strong>I'm not sure if this AU has been done before. It hit me not long ago, and I decided I had to have it on here. If it has been done before... it's happening again. Sorry.<strong>

**Please, please review. I have this funny thing where the more people review, the faster I write. So let's make that happen!**

**Adios!**


	2. Chapter 2

**~A Day To Remember~**

**Chapter Two**

Jean checks his phone for the billionth time. Groaning, he slams it back to the table and takes a moody sip of his coffee – it's as black as his mood and as bitter as his words the previous night.

He promises himself that, the moment Marco replies, he'll add creamer and sugar and, hell, even a few of his boyfriend's off-limits cooking spices. What Marco doesn't know won't hurt him.

Steeling himself, Jean checks his phone again, holding his breath – one new message, advertising a free trip to the Bahamas. A few grumpy sips of his black coffee later, he repeaters the process, despairing in Marco's lack of a response.

With a sigh, he rests his forehead against the stained wooden table, looking out at the New York skyline. Marco had been incredibly lucky to get an apartment like this, so close to his work, with only his salary as a security guard and Jean's as a fireman. The man had seemed to like Jean's little "Freckled Jesus", however, and had given him the flat for only half of what it's worth.

Whenever Jean's not on firehouse duty, he crashes here with Marco – usually, their days together are a hodgepodge of dorky, sappy, and kinky experiences for them to share, but last night, he'd pushed it too far and gotten wasted. Memories of his cruel words echo in his ears.

Gritting his teeth, Jean clunks his coffee against the table and rises angrily from his chair, moving to pick up his jacket and head down to the firehouse. Marco hadn't deserved that at all, and Jean doesn't deserve Marco, but he doesn't deserve to be sitting here like a mourner at his own funeral, either.

At the firehouse, he'll at least find distraction. Jaeger is always fun for a good brawl, so long as it's done outside of Levi's watchful eyes.

The walk through the building is rather uneventful. He waves to Krista, his neighbor, on the way out. The subway, too, is bleak. The people around him seem more morose than usual, but he supposes that's what happens when you have to take a subway somewhere before 9 AM.

At last arriving at the station, Jean checks his clock. Ten minutes until nine; he didn't do to shabby. However, as he walks inside the station, he starts with surprise at the bustle of commotion.

_A fire? _Jean wonders. _This early in the morning? Heh, who am I kidding, it's New York! Of course there's a fire somewhere!_

From between the hustling men appears Jaeger, hastily pulling his boots on. Spotting Jean, he tattles like the little bitch he is, "Captain! Captain, Kirstein's here!"

Almost materializing out of thin air, cleaving through the chaos, Captain Levi struts up, his grey eyes deader than usual, as if that were possible. Jean tenses up and prays to Freckled Jesus as the midget of a man approaches, his aura cold as ice and hot as hell itself in the same moment.

"You certainly got here quickly," he notices, arching a single brow. "Get in gear alongside the rest of the filthy pieces of shit. We're going to need everyone we can muster."

"What –" Jean scrunched his brow. "Ah, I mean, yes sir."

"Well?" Levi leans forward. "Move!"

Looking around, surprised, Jean jogs over to his gear, which is placed between Connie and Sasha, one of the only girls in the establishment. Ducking beneath Reiner and swerving through Armin and Bertholt, Jean makes his way to his gear, hastily changing from his casual wear and shedding the aviator jacket Marco had gotten him for his birthday. He wrinkles his nose at the pungent stench of singed clothing and burned rubber all around him.

All the faces of his fellows seem to be just as dreary as those on the subway, with even the lips of the dynamic duo around him tipped downwards.

"What's going on?" he shouts while pulling on his jacket, voice muddled by the thick fabric. "What's with everyone?"

"You don't know?" Sasha's eyes widen. "Oh my God, how do you not know? It's everywhere!"

"A plane collided with one of the Twin Towers," Connie reports grimly, scowling down at his boots as he fiddles with the buckles. "It looks like an accident to me, but some people are screaming terrorism. Jaeger's one of them, big surprise there."

"The Twin Towers?" Jean fastens his equipment on with twice the normal speed. "So, what, did it, like, collapse?"

"No, not yet," Sasha whispers, her eyes pooling up, "but it's not looking good. We've got to go help with evacuation and crowd control."

The World Trade Center. Jean stares simply at his own hands in disbelief. Can it even be possible? How many people had been injured? Killed? Why was a plane even remotely nearby the Towers?

"Hey, Jean?"

"Hmm?" is all the answer Jean can muster for Connie whilst trapped in his brooding thoughts.

"Doesn't your homofriend –"

"Boyfriend!" Sashes scolds.

"– work in that area? He okay, you think?"

Jean's heart races, and he resists the urge to check his phone, lusting for that bitter, black coffee he'd left on the table without a coaster – Marco would freak. "I'm sure he's fine," Jean says, comforting himself as much as he's comforting them. "He doesn't work anywhere near the Twin Towers, anyway, just... down a block."

"We'll be sure to evacuate his building," Sasha soothes. "Don't you worry. Don't you dare worry."

"Alright, little shits, into the fire truck!" Levi bellows. Though Jean can't see the little man over the heads of everyone here, he turns attentively towards the voice, desiring not to have his ass handed to him by a dwarf on top of everyone else shitty happening this morning.

Clambering forward to his placement on the truck, Jean attempts to wrap his head around the present. While he'd been fretting over his trivial love life, dozens of people had probably died. He shivers, lost in thought.

An awful, cold stone lodges itself in his stomach. Every time he swallows, it grows heavier, like the calm before the storm.

Sweating, Jean turns his eyes to the fire truck – the fuming engine beneath its glossy red hide growls at him like an animal, its headlights like eyes the ferocious eyes of a beast. His heart throbs painfully, each beat strangled by fear. Petrified, Jean stares wordlessly at the truck, watching as his comrades pile in, each grim-faced or ashen.

In his pocket, the phone rings. Jarred from his stupor by Marco's special ringtone, Jean claws for his flip phone, managing to fish it out after several seconds of digging.

His fingers shake as he verifies the number on the screen – relief flutters through Jean, slightly easing the pain at his heart.

"What do you think you're doing, Kirstein?" Nearly scaring the shit out of Jean, Levi appears beside him, cuffing his head sharply. "We all have loved ones, but you don't see anyone else staring moony-eyed at their phones! Get your ass in gear!"

Jean nods, pathetically plodding after Levi, pocketing his phone. It's painful, hearing the ringing disappearing, knowing that soon, the phone lines will overflow and make connection between him and Marco impossible, but Levi has a point.

Hanji, another female firefighter, honks the horn excitedly, whooping with enthusiasm in the front seat.

Jean piles on the reeking machine, lost in thought. Poor Marco is probably worried. Knowing him, he'll make Jean say a prayer every night for a year with this going on. Chuckling to himself, Jean bows his head, focusing on pleasant memories of Marco's adorable prayer circles to prepare himself for the hell they're bound to enter.

Not even five minutes after Marco had called, Levi shouts back at them, his callus tone even sharper than usual.

"Oi, you little shits, the second tower's been hit by another plane. Jaeger, you're right for once in your snivelling life. It seems this is an act of terrorism."

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><p><strong>Please, please, please review! It means so much! Constructive criticism is welcomed!<strong>

**Adios!**


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